


Game

by somniari



Series: The Game [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bondage, Complete, Consensual Drugging, Dom/sub, Humiliation, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Rape Play, negotiated non-consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 15:13:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2816771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somniari/pseuds/somniari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Satisfied?" Dorian snaps, having regained some his composure. "You've played your little game, ha ha, you win, I lose, you can let me go now."</i>
</p>
<p> <i>The Iron Bull's hands drift toward Dorian's shirt as he gives Dorian a bemused look. "Let you go? We haven't even started yet."</i></p>
<p>Bull and Dorian play a game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Game

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a [kinkmeme prompt](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/11864.html?thread=46578008#t46578008.).

Dorian wakes at the click of a door being shut. His head feels like it weighs as much as a particularly stocky dwarf and there's a persistent low thrumming in the back of his head.

Fantastic, he thinks, and struggles to raise his head.

 

_Dorian is a little bit nervous and striving to hide it from him. Bull can tell and he sighs, running the chains through his fingers once more.  
  
_ _"We don't have to do this," he tells Dorian. "The chains or the_ talmok _. We can do it without."  
  
_ _"It'll set the scene," Dorian argues. He is already back against the wall, dressed in loose dark pants and a simple white, flowing shirt. He looks gorgeous. Bull shivers in anticipation and then firmly reprimands himself. There's something that needs to worked out, first.  
  
_ _"You seem ill at ease, Dorian." Bull sets the chains on the table next to the goblet of_ talmok _and moves closer. "We agreed that if we were going to do this, you and I were both going to be completely honest." He pauses, searches Dorian's face. "Are you scared, Dorian?"  
  
_ _Dorian sighs heavily and crosses his arms. "Perhaps a bit, yes. But it adds to the excitement. I_ want _to be scared."  
  
_ _Bull puts his finger under Dorian's chin and tips his head back. Dorian's hands fall to his sides, his eyes bright and clear. That's good. That's very good. "The dosage is too low to do any kind of real damage," he says, for the fourth time. It's as much to reassure himself as well as Dorian. "It'll knock you out for an hour, maybe. I will be in the room the whole time and I won't leave until you start waking up."  
  
_ _"I know," Dorian says irritably, one of his hands coming up to grab Bull's wrist. "You've only told me this twice before."  
  
_ _"Three times before," Bull corrects."And I'll do it again if I think you need to hear it. You'll feel—"  
  
_ _"Fuzzy, disoriented, whistling in my head, yes, yes, I know," Dorian says. "I actually listened to your adorably casual description of the drug your people use to subdue your rowdy mages for transport, you know."  
  
_ _"We should talk about the collar that blocks spell casting at some point too," Bull says and grins at Dorian's choked exclamation. He turns and reaches for the table, hovering his hand over the chains and the goblet. "Chains first," he decides.  
  
_ _Dorian shivers and obediently turns around when Bull twirls his finger in a circle. Dorian's wrists are strong, but Bull knows he can break the bones easily. Humans. They think they can rule the world, but squeeze them and they snap, just like that. Bull gathers Dorian's wrists and binds them together, locking the chains securely. He physically turns Dorian around again and nudges him back up against the wall; Dorian's looking at him and Bull leans down to steal a kiss, biting at Dorian's lip. He feels Dorian smile through the kiss and heat floods his body.  
  
_ _This is the best idea Dorian's had so far.  
  
_ _Bull attaches Dorian's chains to the wall and checks to see if they're not cutting off his circulation, running a thumb over the line where they meet Dorian's skin.  
  
_ _Dorian wriggles his hands. "It's fine," he says, sounding breathless.  
  
_ _"More than fine," Bull mutters, eyeing the flush in his cheeks. His own dick is stirring as well, seeing Dorian in chains is bound (hah!) to do that to him. He watches Dorian test the restraints for another minute and reaches for the goblet._ Talmok _is strong stuff, sweet-tasting and sticky. Bull sniffs the contents, making a face at the revolting sugary scent, and puts the goblet to Dorian's lips. "All of it," he says.  
  
_ _Dorian drinks._

 

The fog clears a bit, then things get progressively worse. First, he's shackled or bound or... something. His hands are restrained behind his back and also tight against the wall. He can't move, just squirm a little, and Dorian winces when the motion makes the chains – he thinks that's what they are, but he isn't sure – dig into his wrists. Second, and worse, he is gagged. And very thoroughly, too.

This panics him more than the binds do. He is no stranger to being in dangerous situations – mages are hunted everywhere since the war began, and escaping his parents' influence in Tevinter was no walk in the park on a sunny afternoon either. He's a skilled mage and not afraid of a fight, but he's also talked his way out of potential problems more times than he can recall. Not being able to speak, to verbally defend himself and plea his case against whatever madman has brought him here... that frightens him.

Dorian looks around. He's clearly in someone's bedchambers. There's a fire going in the open fireplace and he notes it as a potential weapon if he can manage to get his hands free. There's a large bed, a few chairs and heavy curtains so thick he can't tell whether it's day or night outside. The room looks cozy, which is unnerving given Dorian's current position. A dungeon might be worse, but the bed had... unfortunate implications.

Dorian closes his eyes and concentrates on breathing through his nose as best he can. Time passes. His position against the wall grows more uncomfortable. Surely someone will check up on him at some point? As soon as he finishes the thought, the door opens.

Maker help me, Dorian thinks, because it's a Qunari who steps through the door. He has to be at least eight feet tall and dressed in the worst pants Dorian's ever laid eyes on and no shirt. His horns are enormous and his face, when Dorian dares to look at it, is cold. He only has one eye; a black eyepatch covers the area where his left should be. His voice, when he speaks, is a low rumble, like rocks down a mountain slope.

"You're awake. Good." The Qunari turns and does something to the locks that makes the door click shut before crossing the room to stand a few feet away from Dorian.

Good? Why is that good? Dorian wishes desperately he could speak, but he is not going to lower himself to attempting to speak through the gag in his mouth. He's either going to speak freely or not at all; mumbling isn't part of the plan.

"I saw you on the battlefield today," the Qunari says, stepping closer. Dorian reflexively holds his breath, exhales when the Qunari makes no further move. "A mage. A pretty one. You know, I've never done it with a mage before. I hear it can get pretty... exciting."

Maker! Dorian thinks, squirming once more, making the chains rattle. The Qunari merely grins and steps closer, reaching out a hand to trail his fingers down Dorian's chest. He's still wearing his shirt, but the touch is like burning and Dorian can't stop himself shivering. The Qunari's large hand comes to a rest on Dorian's hip, squeezing gently.

"I am the Iron Bull," the Qunari says.

 

_"What about names?" Bull asks._

_"What about them?" Dorian stretches, languorously, watching Bull watch him. "I'll be Dorian, you'll be the Iron Bull. Just... somewhat alternate versions of ourselves." He's pushing himself up and over Bull, straddling him, like earlier. His smile is sharp, his hair a mess._

_Bull drags his hand down Dorian's side, his waist, his hip. "It could feel... too close to home," he murmurs. "Maybe."_

_"I don't think I could do this thinking you were just some random Qunari," Dorian says, leaning down for a kiss. "It's a fantasy, Bull. Don't tell me you've never done this before."_

_"This kind of fantasy? Not quite. Nothing as... elaborate, as you're suggesting."_

_"Really." Dorian's eyebrows climb up into his hairline. "Tell me, when you're hurting me – binding me tightly, spanking me _—_ " He flushes a little as he speaks, but goes on, "—twisting my arm, shoving me around, do you ever wish you could do that to me, for real? Cause me actual pain that has nothing to do with sex?"_

_"Of course not," Bull says, his hand tightening on Dorian's thigh._

_"It's a fantasy, Bull. You wouldn't hurt anyone with them asking you for it. Maker be damned, you practically made me put it in writing."_

_He looks at Dorian's flushed face and thinks about it._

 

Dorian rolls his eyes. He doesn't care what the Qunari is named; he cares that his hand is on Dorian's hip and his thumb is rubbing gentle circles and slowly fraying Dorian's already shot to the void nerves. He wants to buck up, knock the hand off, but he's fairly certain it wouldn't work.

"I'll get your name in a bit," the Qunari – the Iron Bull – says.

No, you won't, Dorian thinks mutinously, and glares at Bull.

"Oh, there's real fire there," Bull says and his tone is teasing, his one eye bright and approvingly skittering over Dorian's restrained form. "This is going to be fun." He reaches up to Dorian's face, tracks a finger down Dorian's cheekbone, his jaw, to the pulse point in his neck. The touch makes Dorian tense up and he feels heat pool into his belly. _Venhedis,_ he is not getting turned on by this!

It's been a while since another man touched him, Dorian tells himself, and it's got nothing to do with the fact that the Qunari is attractive in a rough, brutish sort of way. The Iron Bull surprises him then, by reaching behind Dorian's head and untying the gag.

 

_"I'll gag you if you want, but I'm taking it out pretty quick."_

_Dorian frowns. "Why?"_

_"Because I want you to be able to watchword out of all this if it stops being fun," Bull says patiently. "Unless you want to come up with some kind of convoluted reason as to why you've got a bell in your hand to drop?"_

_Dorian stares at the ceiling. Bull is momentarily distracted by the line of his throat, the unblemished dark skin, then he groans._

_"You're trying to come up with a reason, aren't you? Dorian." Bull sits up, grabs Dorian around his waist and pulls him into his lap. Dorian squawks indignantly as always, but he's learned protesting doesn't do him any good and he settles in after a token wriggle of objection. "No gag. At least not for long."_

_"Fine," Dorian says. "But at least stop me from talking some other way."_

 

"Let me go, you _savage!"_ Dorian spits out, kicking out and twisting his hands and wishing his hands weren't restrained _just so,_ he can't get the magic to flow, it's blocked, it's not _working--_

The Iron Bull catches his foot easily and bends his leg outward. Dorian groans, gasping when the Iron Bull's hand slides up his leg and inner thigh as he steps inbetween Dorian's now open legs. _Fasta vass,_ Dorian didn't think that through clearly enough.

"No," Dorian says, _"please—"_  And that's all he can get out before the Iron Bull's mouth is on his and he's getting kissed like his life depends on it. Perhaps it does, Dorian thinks, dazed, as the Iron Bull's tongue slips into his mouth and Dorian grows hot and _wanting_ all over. The Iron Bull's mouth is hot and wet and Maker, Dorian can't stop himself from kissing back.

Not part of the plan. He was supposed to fight a little bit more.

The Iron Bull pulls back from him, but keeps close, his hands on either side of Dorian's head. He's so very tall and broad and distractingly shirtless, and Dorian doesn't know where to look so he just glances down. Which is a mistake, because it presents him with undeniable evidence of the Iron Bull's interest in him... and his own response.

"Nothing to say?" the Iron Bull asks, tilting Dorian's chin up with one strong finger. "Of course, your dick is definitely speaking for you." He looks down too and Dorian fights the flush that threatens to spread.

"I can't help that," he snarls. "It's—it's a... a physical response."

"To a savage Qunari about to ravage you," the Iron Bull says, nodding along earnestly. "I knew this was going to be fun. An uptight Tevinter mage, how could it not be?"

" _I am not uptight_!"

The Iron Bull actually laughs and frames Dorian's face with his hands. He leans in for another kiss and Dorian flounders helplessly, opening his mouth and letting him do what he wanted. It's good, it's so good and Dorian squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to hate himself. The kiss is long, but unexpectedly gentle, soft presses and the glide of the Iron Bull's lips against his own. It's been a long time since Dorian's been kissed so tenderly and it only serves to stoke the fire in his belly even higher.

"Maybe not that uptight, no," the Iron Bull says when he's done. He smacks his lips loudly and grins. "Not so bad for a _Tevinter."_

"Satisfied?" Dorian snaps, having regained some his composure. "You've played your little game, ha ha, you win, I lose, you can let me go now."

The Iron Bull's hands drift toward Dorian's shirt as he gives Dorian a bemused look. "Let you go? We haven't even started yet."

Dorian kicks out again and – most satisfyingly – makes contact with the Iron Bull's thigh. It doesn't do much and it's a lot like kicking a pile of clay. Worse, all it does is _amuse_ the Iron Bull, like Dorian is just a mouse he's toying with. A frightfully fitting description, Dorian thinks, even as his punishment for getting a hit in is the Iron Bull's strong hand cupping Dorian's dick through his trousers.

Dorian's head slams back against the wall and he bites back a helpless groan. _Fasta vass,_ it feels unbelievably good.

"Like that, huh?" the Iron Bull murmurs, pressing down harder, thoroughly feeling him up even through the thick layers of Dorian's trousers and underwear.

"Stop," Dorian gasps. "Please—y-you can't—" He is not above begging, but it seems like it won't do him much good at all.

But to his surprise – and disappointment, and Dorian bites his tongue so as to not let that damned Qunari know – the Iron Bull pulls his hand away and rests it on Dorian's stomach instead. It's not much of an improvement, but it gives Dorian a few precious seconds to breathe and process his own reactions. While remaining in character, of course. Dorian _knows_ why he's achingly hard under circumstances that would be terrifying if they were real, but that doesn't fit the story they agreed upon.

There's another surprise.

 

_"I don't want to know," Dorian says firmly._

_"What if I end up doing something you really hate?" Bull counters, digging his fingers into Dorian's shoulders. He's straddling Dorian's thighs and it's a lot of weight, but Dorian likes it, likes the feel of being pressed down into the mattress. He can't get away unless Bull lets him, and that makes him feel shivery-weak on the inside too._

_"You won't," Dorian says confidently. "Since you seem to know my limits better than I do. Besides--" A yawn cracks his sentence in half and he drops face-down into the pillow, one stolen from the Inquisitor's quarters as she gets the_ really _nice stuff and Dorian has pillow envy._

_"Besides what?" Bull asks, skittering his fingers down Dorian's spine and digging into his lower back._

_"I trust you," Dorian says, raising his head and looking at his... at the man Dorian's been sleeping with on the regular. There oughta be a term for this, he thinks vaguely, something a little shorter than that._

_Bull smiles, pleased, his one eye going small and squinty. "And you can always use the watchword," he offers._

_"There's that," Dorian agrees. He's not planning on it, but. Well. He's used it four times before. He's not planning on a fifth._

 

The Iron Bull moves to Dorian's side and fiddles with the chains around his wrists. Dorian sucks in a surprised breath, but his wrists remain bound together. He is merely released from the wall and held securely by his shoulders. He twists from side to side, testing the Iron Bull's grip, but subsides when he realizes that even if he somehow managed to get away from eight feet of what appears to be pure muscle, the door remains locked.

There's no way out of this affair but through. Dorian chances a look at the Iron Bull, who's checking Dorian's restraints over his shoulder.

"They appear to be doing their job," Dorian comments, twisting his wrists futilely to underscore his point.

"I know," the Iron Bull rumbles and he runs a thumb across Dorian's lower lip. "Better safe than sorry, right? Wouldn't want you to burn down my bedroom."

Their eyes meet and Dorian fights back a smile. A momentary lapse from their little game, but it doesn't feel wrong.

"Oh, I would burn you down first," Dorian says airily. "The bedroom would just be collateral damage."

"You have such a mean mouth," the Iron Bull muses. "I can think of better things you could be doing with it rather than threatening me, as amusing as that is."

Dorian feels himself go pale and he sways unsteadily on his feet. _Venhedis,_ but how had he ended here in this room with this hulking beast of a man?

The Iron Bull leads him over to the bed and makes him stand beside it. Dorian shivers and eyes the door. There's no key. What kind of locks are they? How do they open? He doesn't know. There's no way out. A pillow is dropped at his feet. Maker, Dorian thinks.

"Get down on your knees," the Iron Bull says. He speaks quietly, but there's no arguing that tone.

Dorian complies, shifting around until he's as comfortable as he's going to get. The pillow is firm and it raises him up quite a bit, but it's still going to be a stretch to reach where the Iron Bull wants him. Dorian is not a small man and he's used to be taller than his bed partners, but right now he feels... insignificant.

The Iron Bull moves away, to a chest at the foot of the bed. Dorian feels a momentary surge of relief, but that quickly turns to black dread when he sees what the Iron Bull is holding in his hand.

A knife.

 

_That glint in Bull's eye spells trouble._

_Dorian eyes him warily. "A request?"_

_"Just that you wear something that you could stand losing," Bull says, shrugging so innocently it immediately becomes the exact opposite._

_Dorian narrows his eyes. "Whatever for?"_

_Bull shrugs. "I like tearing off people's clothes. It's a thing. And you never let me."_

_"My clothes are expensive, Bull," Dorian says peevishly. "Why tear them off when I'm so eager to just take them off if you'd just ask? Or order?"_

_"For fun," Bull says, trailing his fingers down Dorian's smooth, silk shirt. "To get you all worked up and spitting angry – you get pretty intense when your wardrobe's threatened, as we all found out that time the Inquisitor took us to the mire."_

_Dorian slaps his hand away and ignores Bull's unrepentant grin._

_"I can make it an order," Bull then says and Dorian's heart skips a beat. That always gives him a little thrill. May it never change._

_"I could use the watchword," Dorian counters, because Bull shouldn't start thinking he's got Dorian pegged._

_"You could," Bull says, stepping closer, all up in Dorian's personal space so Dorian has to crane his neck to meet his eye. "But you won't, will you?"_

_Dorian says nothing. Bull's hand slides up into his neck, scratching little at the soft skin there._

_"Wear something disposable, Dorian."_

 

The touch of the knife is cool on his skin. Dorian expects the blinding pain of a knife stuck somewhere horribly inconvenient, but all that happens – luckily? - is that the Iron Bull starts cutting through his shirt. Clearly, he's enjoying this way too much, judging from the quick little looks he gives Dorian, but Dorian manfully holds his tongue and only sighs mournfully a little bit when the shirt's in tatters on the floor.

The Iron Bull half turns and tosses the knife back in the chest, then squats down until he's more or less at eye level with Dorian. "Did you think I was going to cut you?"

"Well, it wouldn't have surprised me," Dorian says haughtily, raising his chin. "Since you can basically do whatever you desire with me... what's stopping you?"

"Not my thing," the Iron Bull says, standing up again, his hands going to the drawstring of his truly blindingly hideous pants. They're still tented and – what's in it appears to be huge.

Dorian swallows and looks away, shutting his eyes when the rustling of cloth becomes unbearable. He's hot and cold at the same time and very aware of his nipples tightening – from the cold, obviously. He hears the Iron Bull kick the hideous pants aside and then the room is very still for a moment before the Iron Bull grips his face and turns it back.

"Open your eyes," he says, tightening his grip on Dorian's chin when he doesn't immediately obey.

Dorian shudders wildly, the chains around his wrists rattling, and opens his eyes. The Iron Bull is naked and he is... impressive. He's indeed eight feet of pure muscle and strength and his cock is long and thick. Dorian's bedded a few well-endowed men before, but none of them come even close to the Iron Bull's size.

Maker damned Qunari.

"Don't worry," the Iron Bull says, reaching down and leisurely stroking himself. "I've been with humans before. It'll fit – given enough preparation and lubrication."

Dorian's cock is throbbing in his pants. Treacherous bastard. He tries to speak. The words die in his throat. A second attempt, then. "You cannot possibly expect me to--"

"Oh, but I do," the Iron Bull says, stepping closer. "Suck me off, pretty little mage whose name I still don't know yet."

Dorian isn't particularly inclined to tell him at this point and he leans back, flexing his fingers behind his back. Still nothing. He can't get his hands in the right position to cast even the smallest of barriers, let alone something that would actually help him.

The Iron Bull stops his retreat with a hand in Dorian's hair, tugging sharply until Dorian hisses. "The chest I got the knife from?" he says. Dorian blinks up at him, wordlessly. The Iron Bull's dick is inches from Dorian's mouth. "There's more in there that could hurt you. Very badly. So if I feel teeth, you'll feel the contents of that chest. Am I understood?"

Dorian nods. It's difficult, because the Iron Bull's fingers are still tangled in his hair, but speech has deserted him. Above him, the Iron Bull groans and shuffles forward. His dick bumps against Dorian's lips and Dorian gasps. It's big. It's bigger than Dorian's ever had in his mouth and he wonders, hysterically, what his father would say if he could see Dorian now. Then the time for wondering is past, and the Iron Bull's dick is slowly filling his mouth.

His jaw is going to be so sore later, but there's nothing he can do to stop the Iron Bull so Dorian just focuses on getting through this. He can't use his hands, so most of his usual tricks are out – his tongue is going to have to do all the work. He draws a gratifying moan from the Iron Bull when he sets to work, finding and tracing all the veins on his dick.

He pops the Iron Bull's dick out of his mouth briefly so he can Maker damned breathe, but quickly takes it back in before he gets punished. The Iron Bull's fingers are tight against his scalp and he's setting the pace now, sliding in and out of Dorian's mouth at a gentle rocking pace. Dorian wishes he'd go faster, but he suspects the Iron Bull wants to draw it out, really make him work for it. He whimpers a little and shifts on the pillow. His cock is painfully hard in his far too tight trousers, but he expects he won't be getting relief anytime soon.

"You're doing so well," the Iron Bull says from far, far away. "So well, mage – what is your name?"

Dorian tries to shake his head, but the Iron Bull's hand and cock won't let him. The Iron Bull pushes his cock in deep, almost making Dorian gag before he works to swallow him down, and this draws another, highly pleased and somewhat impressed, sound from him before he pulls out entirely.

Dorian sits, panting, feeling little rivulets of sweat run down his chest and spine. The room is way too hot all of a sudden, and the sight of the Iron Bull pushing his cock through his fist isn't helping, even though it should.

"Your name," the Iron Bull says again.

Dorian glares up at him. _"Vishante kaffas,"_ he spits. "No. I won't tell you."

The Iron Bull sighs, but keeps stroking himself, like Dorian's helpless ire is turning him on. "I don't want to do this the hard way," he warns, casting a glance toward the chest. "I'd hate to tarnish that pretty skin of yours. I am Ben-Hassrath. Do you know what that means?"

Dorian wets his lips, ignores the taste of the Iron Bull's cock still on his tongue. "You're a spy."

"And an enforcer," the Iron Bull says. "I know how to make people talk." His tone is calm, but the threat is clear. "I know how to make them tell me their deepest, most well hidden secrets. Do you think you could keep your name from me if I truly put my mind to getting it out of you?"

Dorian doesn't think that and the part of him that is rebelling against giving the Iron Bull anything grows smaller. There is no point in being stubborn. He just has to get through this and maybe afterward, the Qunari will let him go. He has to hope that he does. He presses his lips together and then says, "Dorian."

The Iron Bull acknowledges his defeat with a nod and a slight smile. "Dorian. A pretty name for a pretty mage." He touches Dorian's face, his mouth and slides his fingers between Dorian's lips, the callouses rough on Dorian's tongue.

Dorian goes very still and lets him, shutting his eyes. He doesn't open them until the Iron Bull draws his fingers back and replaces them with his cock again. The Iron Bull slides both of his hands in Dorian's hair now and Dorian can do nothing but let him fuck his mouth, struggling to keep up with the demanding pace.

"That's good," the Iron Bull murmurs, "very good, Dorian. Told you you could take it, you feel so good..."

Dorian whimpers around the girth in his mouth, pressing his tongue in the slit of the Iron Bull's dick, feeling him react to that. The Iron Bull's hips jerk forward and Maker, it's a lot of cock. Dorian concentrates on breathing, just breathing, as the Iron Bull slowly inches all the way in. Under different circumstances, Dorian would be damn proud of his ability to swallow a man down whole, especially a man of this size, but right now it's accompanied by the Iron Bull petting him and tugging on his hair, and he just feels hot with humiliation and need. More the former than the latter, he tells himself.

"Didn't think you had it in you," the Iron Bull says, sounding breathless. "Usually takes people a couple of tries. You must have had a lot of practice."

Dorian groans around the Iron Bull's cock. His balls slap against Dorian's chin. The sounds they're making are _obscene_ and Dorian twists his hips from side to side, trying to get some friction in his trousers. His own dick's demands are getting too hard to ignore (too hard, hah), but he has no idea how much longer the Iron Bull will last.

A long time, it turns out. The Iron Bull fucks Dorian's mouth unhurried, like he has all the time in the world, which might even be true. The thing is, there's no one looking for Dorian. He's been traveling alone, which has it advantages. The disadvantage now, of course, is that nobody knows he's in the hands – claws – of a Qunari savage.

How long it's been, Dorian doesn't know, but finally the Iron Bull lets out some Qunari swear word or other and his hands tighten in Dorian's hair and his body goes taut and he's coming, hot and slick in Dorian's mouth. Dorian moans, tries to pull back, to get away, but where he no longer has any strength, the Iron Bull maintains his, and there's no escaping until the Iron Bull is done and Dorian's swallowed it all.

The Iron Bull steps back and laughs. His dick is still half-hard and his chest is gleaming with sweat. He's got dozens of scars, large and small, littering his skin and Dorian can't look at him.

Dorian feels wrecked. His jaw aches and his mouth tastes like... Humiliation burns his cheeks. He works his jaw and coughs a little and grunts in surprise when the Iron Bull hauls him to his feet. His knees crack and almost give out, but the Iron Bull's grip is firm and he waits, patiently, while Dorian steadies himself.

"That was pretty good," the Iron Bull says.

"Thanks," Dorian says, as icily as he can manage under the circumstances. "I wouldn't want to be a disappointment."

"Nothing about you has disappointed me so far." The Iron Bull's one eye is glittering and he skims a hand down Dorian's bare chest, to where the hair trails down into Dorian's trousers. "In fact, it's the opposite. I'm impressed that you could take all of me. Fun. We should do that again sometime."

"Get your hands off me, you arse," Dorian snaps, twisting away from the Iron Bull. Not that he gets very far; the Iron Bull just laughs and pulls him closer again, pressing his lips against Dorian's forehead, cheek, nose and finally, his mouth. The kiss distracts Dorian long enough that the Iron Bull manages to undo all but the last button on Dorian's trousers before he notices.

"Maker," Dorian chokes out as the Iron Bull's hands land on his hips and start tugging down his trousers. "Please, don't – I beg you, please—"

The Iron Bull simply ignores him, smiling triumphantly when Dorian's trousers pool at his feet. He's just in his underwear now and his dick is still achingly hard.

The Iron Bull runs his hands up Dorian's bare thighs and tugs on Dorian's silk underwear with a questioning look on his face. "This is not real underwear, is it? It's so _puny."_

Dorian flushes. His underwear does nothing to hide his arousal; there's even a wet spot where the tip of his cock's been rubbing against the smooth material.

The Iron Bull reaches behind Dorian and grips the chains binding Dorian's wrist together, and yanks them down. The motion makes Dorian arch up into the Iron Bull's strong, hard body, his cock pressing against the Iron Bull's thigh. Dorian hisses out an angry breath. With his free hand, the Iron Bull pulls down Dorian's underwear and then grabs Dorian and pushes their bodies together. The hand toying with Dorian's chains presses in the small of Dorian's back and the other hand comes to a comfortable stop on Dorian's waist and the Iron Bull leans down to kiss him again, pressing them impossibly tighter together.

The height difference makes Dorian dizzy with... something, definitely not lust, however, and he can feel the Iron Bull's dick swell again where it's pressed up against him. His own dick is aching with need and he's sort of desperate to be touched, but he's being given no reprieve. He can only rub up against the Iron Bull a little and he can feel the infuriating Qunari smile through the kiss as he does so.

"Got you going, huh?" the Iron Bull says, pulling back a little with a loud smack of his lips. His hands slide from Dorian's waist and back to Dorian's arse and squeeze. Dorian jerks in surprise and groans, turning his head to the side to – futilely, surely – hide his reaction. He tells himself it doesn't feel good, doesn't feel really nice to have the Iron Bull's fingers dig into his arse, feeling and fondling and stroking and – smacking. Hard.

Dorian jumps and cries out, partially from shock. Heat floods his body; it's most definitely not the reaction he ought to be having, but there's no fighting it. The Iron Bull is grinning widely, stilling Dorian with a wide hand on his waist before smacking his arse again.

"Please," Dorian gasps out, his dick twitching at the next blow, and the next. "Stop, you absolute bastard, _fasta vass—"_

"Stop something you obviously enjoy?" the Iron Bull drawls. "That seems a little... counterproductive, don't you think, Dorian?"

Dorian hates the way the Iron Bull says his name. Like they're lovers. Like it's his favorite thing in the world to say; the way the Iron Bull draws out the o a little and rolls the r. He thinks about kicking him again, but there's another smack on his ass and his knees finally give out. The Iron Bull catches him, just in time, and lifts him up and lowers him onto the bed. Dorian whines in protest when his ass hits the mattress, but the Iron Bull's looming over him demanding another kiss and Dorian gives in.

The Iron Bull lifts Dorian up again – and it's humiliating how easy that is for him – and arranges Dorian against the pillows at the headboard, sitting up rather than laying down. Dorian rolls his shoulders, tries to get the kinks out, pulls on his chains again with no result. His arms ache, but there's no way the Iron Bull would let him out of the chains because Dorian would absolutely try to blast his face off.

 

_"But you'd have your hands on your back for a long time." Bull frowns, running his fingers down Dorian's left arm, catching his wrist._

_Dorian shrugs. "So? Is that a problem?"_

_"I don't know, Dorian, is it?" Bull looks at him, the intense kind of look that means he wants Dorian to be completely honest, the look he gave Dorian before their first watchword talk. "I doubt you'll want to come out of the other side unable to move your arms for three days. The Inquisitor might have a word or two with you about that too."_

_Dorian huffs. "I assure you I can take it. In any case, if it gets to be too much, I'll let you know. We'll figure out some other way for me not to be able to use my magic." He considers and shrugs lightly. "And I could... practice."_

_Bull tilts his head. "Practice." There's a lilt to his tone that means he likes that idea. Predictable. Dorian allows himself a private smile. "You mean..."_

_"I mean that you should tie me up. Right now. Hands behind my back." Dorian steps closer to Bull, reaching out to trail a hand down his chest while he still can. "And tomorrow. And the day after that, and the day after that..." He smirks when Bull groans and grabs Dorian's wrist. "Until I've learned to endure it for hours. Bull..."_

_Bull kisses him, hungrily, messily, and Dorian feels it down to his toes. Bull's hands are seemingly everywhere on Dorian's body and eventually, he's turned around and pressed into the wall next to the bed. Dorian moans and tries to push back, his fingers scrabbling uselessly at the cold stone, but he's pinned down firmly and there's nothing, absolutely nothing he can do to stop Bull._

_Bull takes Dorian's wrists and binds them on his back. Not too tightly, but not so loose Dorian can get out of the ropes himself._

_"Yes," Dorian says, closing his eyes. "Yes, yes."_

 

"Pretty little mage likes to get his ass spanked," the Iron Bull mutters, sitting back on his heels to look Dorian over. His dick is half-hard, twitching lazily between his massive thighs, and Dorian bites his lip and looks away, the memory of it between his lips overwhelming him. "Let's find out what else he likes."

"No," Dorian croaks, as the Iron Bull's hands land on his ankles and slide up. "Please. My father—" Dorian swallows, hating himself just a little. "He has gold. However much you want, I can provide it."

The Iron Bull looks up, his hands stilling on Dorian's bare thighs. "You think I want money?"

Dorian stares at him. "I don't know what you want."

"This." The Iron Bull looks him over. "I want this. I don't care a shit about gold. Breaking pretty little mages, though, I'm all about that. I thought that was obvious."

"Oh, believe me, I got that part," Dorian snaps. "Just for a moment, I thought you might listen to reason."

The Iron Bull just grins and squeezes Dorian's thighs, his thumbs digging into the muscles there. Dorian hisses and his cock twitches, drawing the Iron Bull's attention to it. He licks his lips and bends over, his hands sliding up Dorian's thighs to where they meet his groin. Dorian arches up, powerless to stop himself and groans when the tip of the Iron Bull's tongue flicks out to lick over the head of Dorian's cock. _Venhedis,_ that shouldn't feel so amazing. The Iron Bull's mouth is wet and hot and _skillful,_ and he draws Dorian's cock in easily, one of his hands gently stroking Dorian's balls.

Dorian swears, hips bucking up to get more, more, and he hates himself for it, feeling almost relieved when the Iron Bull pins his hips down to the bed so he can't move anymore. It's less humiliating this way, but only slightly, and it still doesn't stop Dorian from twitching against the sheets and groaning out loud.

For just a moment, he wishes he were still gagged, because Maker, he can't stop the breathless noises pouring out of his mouth and he can see and feel the Iron Bull grinning around his dick. The Iron Bull's tongue is thick and strong like the rest of him and he's frighteningly good at finding out how Dorian likes it and doing that over and over again. Dorian's legs feel like pudding and he forces himself to look away from the sight of the Iron Bull's head bobbing up and down between his spread legs, the horns ridiculously huge and intimidating. Occasionally they skim dangerously close to Dorian's stomach and it sends a frisson of fear through him every time.

Dorian is going to come soon. He knows it, can feel the heat building everywhere. It's inevitable. He bites back a sob as the Iron Bull pulls back slightly and drags his tongue roughly up the length of Dorian's dick, sucking delicately at the tip before replacing his mouth with his hand and stroking Dorian gently.

Dorian lies back against the headboard, panting, and ignores the Iron Bull's heated gaze on him, his hips pumping up into the Iron Bull's fist. He can't stop. It's impossible.

"Just accept it, Dorian," the Iron Bull says with a smirk. "It's going to happen whether you want to or not." He strokes Dorian harder, firmer and Dorian cries out, his legs flailing weakly.

"Stop, please," Dorian begs, even though his body is screaming for the exact opposite. He mustn't give in to this, must fight this. "Please, please, please, don't—"

The Iron Bull's smile is bright and mean and the hand that isn't working Dorian's dick slides under the sheets to retrieve a bottle of oil. Dorian notices it through his mixture of distress and sheer lust and he swears, the most ugly Tevene he can think of through the fog in his mind, not that it matters, because of course the savage doesn't speak his language.

The pop when the Iron Bull uncaps the bottle is loud even over the sounds of sex.

"No," Dorian groans, watching the Iron Bull clumsily – his other hand is still on Dorian's dick, though he's stroking slower now – coat his fingers.

"Yes," the Iron Bull says, drawing out the word. "Don't tell me you don't want this, Dorian. A big Qunari hand on your cock, his fingers in your ass—"

Dorian shudders, whimpering in a most pathetic fashion when the Iron Bull's hand tightens on his dick.

"—holding you down, kissing you," the Iron Bull continues, rearranging himself so he's laying flat on his stomach between Dorian's thighs. "Conquering you." He bites at Dorian's right thigh, hard enough to bruise, not hard enough to draw blood, and laughs when Dorian cries out. "Raise your hips," he says – orders.

Dorian stares at the ceiling as he does as he's told. The Iron Bull's fingers slip underneath him and then – _oh_ – inside him, gentle, but inevitable. He could have refused, could have fought and kicked and screamed, but he knows it wouldn't have done him any good.

"You're tight," the Iron Bull growls. "Fuck, that feels good. Gonna feel amazing 'round my cock." He glanced up at Dorian and closes his one eye. It takes Dorian a second or two to realize he's trying to wink. It looks ridiculous.

The Iron Bull's fingers are thick and rough and calloused, and he's being careful, and Dorian hates that the most. Nothing about this is violent and it feels like everything is focused on giving Dorian pleasure, too. Dorian arches up, putting all his weight on his bound wrists and sore shoulders, as the Iron Bull slides in a second thick, oil-slick finger and his mouth closes around the base of Dorian's cock.

Dorian swears bitterly again, pushing his dick into the tight heat of the Iron Bull's mouth, and groaning when the Iron Bull's fingers fill him up, stretch him, sliding in all the way. He thinks about the Iron Bull's cock in his mouth and how it's going to feel in his ass instead and whimpers, a sound that grows louder then the Iron Bull curls his fingers inside Dorian and rubs his thumb around the edge of his hole.

Dorian breathes out, squeezing his eyes shut as heat curls in his belly and sweat forms on his brow. He's so close, so Maker-damned close, but he can't, he shouldn't, he can't—

The Iron Bull just keeps going with no regard for Dorian's inner turmoil. He's sucking Dorian's dick like Dorian is paying him for it, lips and tongue and blissful wetness, and his fingers – three of them now – steadily work Dorian's ass.

"No, no no no, Maker, please, I can't—" And Dorian is coming, stars colliding behind his eyelids, the Iron Bull swallowing everything he has to give, his fingers stilling in Dorian's ass. Dorian's chest heaves as he drops back down into the pillows, his head thumping against the headboard with a loud crack.

Bull looks up sharply and Dorian gives a minuscule shake of his head. The Iron Bull smiles, sits up, and twists his fingers inside Dorian and Dorian _moans,_ trying to lift up and away from the pressure, it's just too much, he's raw and open and exhausted. The Iron Bull watches him squirm with an amused twitch at the corner of his wide mouth and pats Dorian's stomach with his free hand, slowly dragging his fingers out and wiping them on the sheets. "You did very well, pretty mage."

Does that mean it's over? No, most likely not. Dorian's eyes are inexorably drawn to the Iron Bull's cock, hard and standing up again in a nest of dark hair.

"Spare me your compliments," he says, looking away.

"What, you're not pretty?" the Iron Bull says, drawing himself up onto his knees, leaning forward to tug on Dorian's hair. "What, then? Hot? You're that too. There's a reason I picked you."

Dorian doesn't want to hear it. The Iron Bull moves in closer, tilts Dorian's head back and kisses him again. Dorian tastes himself on his tongue and grunts, struggling to get back, get away. The Iron Bull moves with him and presses him against the headboard, still kissing him, unhurriedly. His hands spread Dorian's thighs, his nails dragging red lines into the soft skin. Dorian imagines being fucked like this, on his back, on his bound wrists, but the Iron Bull pulls back completely and grips Dorian's hips, turning him over.

It's almost better like this. Dorian doesn't fight him, doesn't struggle when the Iron Bull arranges him the way he likes. Dorian's on his knees, arse up, face down into the pillow. He turns his head to the side so he can breathe and shuts his eyes, pressing his lips together tightly when the Iron Bull's hands run down from his back to his arse cheeks, touching him intently, spreading him open.

Oil drips down his arse and legs, unexpected, but warm. The Iron Bull's fingers sink back in and Dorian lets a choked _uhn_ escape at the sensation. The Iron Bull's other hand curls around Dorian's waist, pulling him back slightly, the sheets rustling underneath them. Three fingers, Dorian thinks, gasping.

"Breathe, Dorian," the Iron Bull says, shifting behind him. "You took my cock in your mouth, I'm sure your ass can handle it as well."

"Don't," Dorian says, his voice barely a whisper. "Please." His hips are turning in a slow circle, even though he's fighting to stop it, and the Iron Bull's laugh is a low rumble Dorian feels everywhere. One of the Iron Bull's hands grip his hair, pulling his head back; then Dorian feels the thick, blunt head of his cock rub over his hole. Dorian wants to bury his face in the pillow to stifle the noises he's making as the Iron Bull sinks in, steadily and uncompromising, but he can't, he can't and he sobs out an expletive in the common tongue, all Tevene abandoning him.

_"Fuck,"_ the Iron Bull echoes, releasing Dorian's hair to grab his hips with both hands and pressing in deeper, giving Dorian more and more.

"Too much," Dorian grits out and he's rewarded with a slap on his arse which makes him tighten around the Iron Bull's dick.

"Yes," the Iron Bull says, his voice like gravel, "do that again."

Well. This just got quite a bit worse. The Iron Bull is huge. His dick feels much larger than when it was in Dorian's mouth. There's plenty of oil to slick the way and Maker damn it all, it isn't long before it starts to feel good. The Iron Bull occasionally slaps his arse, on alternating sides, and the sounds of the fucking grow louder and louder. _Dorian_ grows louder, despite his best efforts, and the infuriating Qunari keeps a steady, punishing pace that doesn't seem to tire him out one bit.

"Feels so good, little mage," the Iron Bull moans. "So good. And you're doing so well, taking me like you were made for it. You'd think I wasn't your first Qunari."

The Iron Bull folds himself over Dorian's back and Dorian groans at the weight, his knees splaying further apart. It's only the Iron Bull's strong arm around Dorian's waist that keeps him upright, and Dorian wails helplessly when the Iron Bull's finger encircle his dick and start stroking it. Dorian's been steadily growing harder ever since the Iron Bull's cock slid into him and he knows it's only a matter of time before he's coming again.

"That's it," the Iron Bull murmurs encouragingly into his ear, "that's it, Dorian, just take it." His hips are flush with Dorian's arse as he stills inside him for a couple of long seconds. "You're getting close, aren't you? Getting fucked by a Qunari, it's always someone's dirty fantasy. You fucking 'Vints are no exception."

Dorian bites into a pillow so as to not scream when the Iron Bull starts pounding him, hard and fast, stroking Dorian's dick in tandem with his thrusts until Dorian's teetering on the edge and his legs threaten to give out entirely. He's so big, it's so much to take, and he's all around Dorian, a heavy weight on his back, strong hands on his cock and waist, teeth biting at the back of Dorian's neck.

Dorian sends up a silent prayer his desperate little _ah ah_ _ah_ s are being muffled by the pillow and that his body's undulating is being kept in check by the Iron Bull's iron grip. The humiliation burns through him; the loss of control so blatant. He can do nothing but accept what's happening to him, and then, just when Dorian gets close, so damned close, the Iron Bull stops. Dorian barely has time to realize what's happening when the Iron Bull slips out of his arse entirely and slaps it again, for good measure.

"What," Dorian starts, swallowing hard, and he tries to push himself up but he can't find the strength to do so. He whimpers, a sound that turns into a whine when the Iron Bull pulls him upright until he's sitting on his knees, his back to the Iron Bull's chest. "What are you d-doing?"

The Iron Bull skims a hand down Dorian's chest, fingers catching and tangling in the dark, sweaty hair there, and says, breath hot in Dorian's ear, "I want to watch you come again."

No. Dorian closes his eyes. He had just made peace with getting fucked like that, now the rules are changing again. He struggles feebly as the Iron Bull moves him around on the bed. Dorian's arms hurt, his shoulders are strained to their limit, and it's not over yet. When will it be over?

"Don't fight," the Iron Bull says soothingly, shifting so he's laying flat on his back. "Or do. It's kind of a turn-on, to be honest."

Dorian goes very still and glares at him with as much force as he can muster up. It's not much. His bones feel like they're made of water and that feeling only intensifies when the Iron Bull lifts him up again – with a gratifying grunt of effort at least, this time – and settles him on top of him.

Maker, no. "Please," Dorian says, again. How many times has he used that word now? How many utterly useless times? "Not like this."

"Like this," the Iron Bull says. His dick rests in the cleft of Dorian's ass, sticky-warm against his skin. "Up. Wanna watch you ride me. Wanna watch the pretty mage get fucked by his worst enemy."

This is worse. "You already watched me... sucking you off," Dorian says, the words coming out not nearly as sharp and brittle as he'd like. He blames it on his exhaustion. "Haven't you had your fill of fun yet?"

"Not by a long shot, 'Vint," the Iron Bull says, grabbing Dorian's hips. "Up," he repeats, reaching for his dick with one of his hands. "And then down. Slowly."

Dorian breathes out as he slowly rises up on his knees, guided by the Iron Bull's hand on his hip. The angle is wrong at first and he's forced to try again, but then they connect and the Iron Bull groans and Dorian gasps and throws his head back as he sinks down. It's different this way, more intense, somehow. Dorian feels fuller and stretched. The Iron Bull spreads his own legs apart further, bucking up into Dorian with short, hard thrusts. His hands are back on Dorian's hips, pushing him up and dragging him down.

Dorian bites his lower lip so he doesn't cry out, doesn't beg. His dick is hardening and the Iron Bull sees it and grins, dragging one of his hands across Dorian's hipbone to stroke it. Now Dorian can't stop the noises from falling out of his mouth and he can't stop himself from sliding up and down the Iron Bull's cock on his own accord. He is filthy and depraved and weak, so weak, trembling as he fucks himself, groaning as the Iron Bull strokes him harder and faster.

"That's it, Dorian," the Iron Bull growls, "fuck yourself on my cock. Fuck yourself on a savage Qunari's dick–"

"Stop—" Dorian gasps out.

"Can't stop now," the Iron Bull says, his eye falling closed, his massive chest rising and falling. "You feel fucking fantastic. Knew it. Knew it when I saw you the first time, that you'd be amazing to fuck – oh fuck, Dorian—"

Dorian is beyond words. The world is white behind his eyes. The chains rattle as he pulls on them and it hurts and he thinks of the way they dig into his skin, the marks they'll leave and he's coming again, spilling onto the Iron Bull's stomach and half sobbing his name. He pitches forward onto the Iron Bull's chest and he feels him slide an arm around Dorian's waist; he's still going, hasn't come yet and Dorian whines, biting helplessly at the Iron Bull's scarred chest. He closes his eyes and tries to keep his breathing even, but the Iron Bull is still fucking him, his cock thick and hard inside him, his broad hands splayed on Dorian's lower back and arse.

The position is moderately uncomfortable, but it doesn't last long like this. The Iron Bull grabs Dorian's ass and jerks his hips up, stilling inside him and groaning as he comes. Dorian tenses up at the sensation, whimpering a little.

The Iron Bull lets out a long, deep, aggravatingly satisfied sigh and runs his hands up and down Dorian's sides as he lowers them both back down to the mattress. He shifts underneath Dorian and his dick slides out; Dorian hisses at the feeling and sudden emptiness. His legs are still spread wide and that manages to be weird and awkward and comfortable all at once. Maker, but he is spent.

The silence that fills the room is only broken by their laborious breathing. Bull is idly patting Dorian wherever he can reach him and Dorian is content to just lie there, possibly on the cusp of falling asleep, even though he suspects that would be rude and also--

Dorian wriggles his shoulders. "Arms," he croaks, embarrassed at how wrecked his voice sounds. He coughs, clears his throat a few times, and pointedly ignores Bull's pleased little smile.

"Oh, shit, sorry," Bull says, shaking himself out of it and propping himself up to tug Dorian closer. "Keys..." His voice trails off and Dorian raises his head and narrows his eyes at him, struggling into an upright position across Bull's midsection.

"Surely you must be joking," he says flatly.

"They're around here somewhere," Bull insists. "Give me a moment." His hands shoot under the pillows and he knocks them off one by one as he gropes around.

"Why didn't you put them on the table where you could find them?" Dorian asks, exasperated.

"Because then you'd see them and make a grab for them. You were never going to be able to check underneath here. Ah-hah!" Bull says triumphantly, dangling the keys in Dorian's face.

Dorian's not too proud to hide a sigh of relief. He most certainly didn't relish having to find someone to get them out of these chains, although he supposes Bull could've easily broken them. It's kind of terrifying how strong he is.

Instead of turning Dorian around, Bull reaches around him and blindly fumbles for the lock, meeting Dorian's eyes and smiling.

"Yes, yes," Dorian says impatiently, letting out a deep sigh as the chains fall away and he can move his arms again. "You were amazing."

"I know," Bull says smugly. He catches both of Dorian's arms and carefully brings them forward, mindful of the tension. However much they'd practiced this, it still hurts, in the end, and Dorian hisses as Bull digs his thumbs into the strained muscles. "But was it good for you?"

"This is the part where I overwhelm you with compliments and stroke your ego, which by the way, entirely does not need anymore stroking, right?" Dorian asks.

"No, this is the part where we talk about whether this worked for the both of us," Bull says patiently, turning Dorian's wrists over and inspecting the skin. "That's gonna show for a few days."

"I'll wear long sleeves," Dorian says, carefully rolling his shoulders.

Bull looks at him. "Sleeve _s_? As in two?"

"Shut up," Dorian says, with no heat behind the words. He grabs Bull by his horns and yanks his face closer to properly kiss him. "Yes," he says. "Yes, it was good. Frankly, it was mind blowing."

"Hm, I concur," Bull says, idly stroking Dorian's thighs.

"You weren't... uncomfortable with your role?"

Bull laughs a little. "I stood outside the door for a while before I finally came in. Longer than we agreed upon," he confesses. "It was... different. But good. Very, very good."

Dorian tilts his head. "Excellent. So you would be interested in a repeat performance?" He can feel Bull's dick twitch underneath him and laughs. "I'll take that as a 'yes', then."

Bull curls his hand around the back of Dorian's head and brings him down for another kiss. "For you, kadan, always yes."


End file.
